Insincere Sparrow
by Avaxtskyr D'Amour
Summary: A slave girl without any powers of the shadow to speak of, is cast into a society of which she has no memory but has many memories of her. Her only comfort is unexpected companion Slaver Degas VonLeer.


Insincere Sparrow

A Falling Flight

Chapter 1

Degas Vonleer positively loathed being a slaver, there was something so pitifully disgusting about how they pleaded and begged for their lives. Their ghoulish forms drooped and sagged about the camp in heavy chains and they stared up at him with eyes as dead as their dreams. Yet all slaves started their trek in the same manner, a hopeful gleam that perhaps at any moment they could slip away in the dead of night to their freedom. Degas only scoffed at this, not because he felt his operation was flawless, but because he knew that no slave would truly ever be free. He mused they might shed their collars and chains, but their scars would never fade. What they never realized is they could never become part of the society they had been forced to serve because deep down, they hated it. No, he didn't feel bad for the slaves that never escaped, he felt bad for the slaves that did.

Their stubborn defiance in hopes of prolonging this even weak form of freedom proved to be more of an aggravation with each transport. Each day dragged on slower than the last as they tried to transport slaves from border to border within Norfenheim. The only favorable quality that Degas could fathom about his profession was the undeniable perks. The payroll of an average slaver was more than enough for a exuberant living, but the opportunity to hand pick his slaves for free was a golden one. Degas had yet to meet a slave he actually wanted to keep, the best slaves were often the best payoffs, but he enjoyed browsing his selection none the less.

On this particular morning clouds had filled the vast majority of the sky, making a crisp fall day somewhat frigid. The slaves seemed particularly on edge as Degas stalked across the camp, his mouth contorted into a snarl. The clouds gave way to rain which felt only a few degrees warmer than ice. The caravans stopped in the middle of the thick forest and pulled a large tarp across the two largest supply wagons. Once the slaves and traders were safely tucked underneath; Degas signaled for one of the Dragnair guards to start a fire.

Nedris slowly skulked up to the fire, taking care not to step on the slaves with his massive clawed feet. His deep orange scales radiated an extraordinary amount of heat and as he neared closer the impenetrable armor the scales provided proved to be delicately detailed with an intricate system of swirls and loops. Nedris' dragon form always amazed the slaves; few of them would ever have contact with a Dragnair again. Although the majority of his form was largely humanoid, his massive dragon-like feet, hands, and head quickly reminded the voyeurs that he was also a dangerous animal. His large tail flicked slightly from the left to the right as he walked, delicately balancing the large mass of muscle as it shifted through the cramped quarters in the camp.

Nedris' powerful chest puffed up as he inhaled and a liquid fire shot from his mouth onto the pile of kindling. The slaves murmured nervously as he walked back towards Degas, his left shoulder shifting uncomfortably. "Degas, a word?" His deep voice rolled out softly like distant thunder, Degas nodded and motioned for them to adjourn to the woods. They walked in silence through the thick mud and pouring rain until they both felt comfortable they were out of earshot from the other Shadow Walkers. "What's on your mind, friend?" Nedris shot him an unpleasant look, "you haven't told the rest of them about the Lycans, employees deserve to know what they're putting on the line for a paycheck." Degas raised an eyebrow curiously, "our job comes with its risks. Lycans are the same threat as Dragnairs."

Nedris snarled loudly and leaned towards Degas' face, his mouth pulled back into a ferocious sneer revealing all the long sharp teeth hidden by his scaly lips. "We are nothing alike, Degas VonLeer and you will take care to remember that. Lycans are driven by uncontrollable emotion we Dragnairs do not fall for such petty motivations." Degas smiled warmly at his friend, undeterred by sudden outburst, "oh? It seems to me that you are quite familiar with pride and vanity." Nedris rolled his eyes and moved away from Degas, "I restate, Degas… Keeping your employees in the dark is not wise. They will not be able to properly prepare." Degas sighed exasperatedly, "and they will not be easy to work with if they are on edge and frantic about hungry wolf-men."

They fell into another silence as they continued to walk through the rain; Degas' methods often troubled the Dragnair. Although the Nedris often tried to communicate his uneasy feelings about his boss' methods, he feared the Lycan threat more than even he dared to vocalize. Suddenly Nedris grabbed Degas' arm and paused his head focused off to their right, if Nedris would have had ears they would have been perked up as well. He motioned silently for Degas to follow and they trudged through mud which rose up to their knees, until they came upon a large tree trunk with rope wound tightly around it. As they worked their way around the trunk they found a pale corpse lying awkwardly, bits of bone protruding from his arms and legs. His pale fingers were pushing up through the mud like frozen maggots and Degas stomach turned slightly.

Nedris pushed out from the mud and landed near the trunk, ignoring the corpse, and started to work on cutting through the ropes. Degas moved closer to see a young woman tied firmly to the tree with blood crusted binding, her head tilted forward at an unnatural angle. A cloth gag was tied around her mouth tightly and as Degas cut through it he found evidence of bruising, her skin felt frozen. "Degas, look." Nedris pushed back the girl's hair to reveal a silver slave collar around her neck and her wrists were clad with matching bracelets. Degas pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her carefully, hoping the small amount of warmth would help her chilled bones. "Let's get her back to the camp."

Nedris bent down to pick her up then stopped, her eyes had opened and she stared at them quietly. Her luminescent blue irises sent a chill through them both for unlike the eyes of their slaves her eyes were void of anything, there was no despair, no hope, no feeling. "Degas her eyes… why are they so blue?" She winced slightly then fell into Nedris' massive chest and didn't stir. "I have no idea, but let's just get her back to camp. She needs a doctor." They rushed away from that spot, an eerie feeling falling over both of them as if they were being watched. As they found themselves in the relative safety of the camp again, they started to breathe a little easier and moved towards Degas' tent.

The slaves stared suspiciously at the two of them, as if they had just committed some malicious act and watched judgingly as they disappeared into the tent. A medic followed them knowingly inside and the three looked down at their newest addition. She didn't appear far over twenty, although with Shadow Walkers age was often irrelevant, and nothing about her seemed to suggest why her attacker would have behaved so brutally. Her long black hair seemed unnaturally straight and had it not been forced to endure several days outside without any care, it looked as though it had great potential to be silky. Her frame was thin and fragile, Degas suspected she hadn't gotten enough to eat in quite some time, and her chest seemed to shudder slightly with every inhale. What perturbed them the most was the condition of her clothes, the simple white fabric was torn and shredded, the scraps barely clinging to her frame.

The medic set a black bag next to the cot and pulled out a pair of scissors, carefully removing what was left of her dress. Nedris gasped slightly as they saw her torso covered in large ugly welts, her ribcage looked mangled and twisted like a wrung out towel. The medic frowned as traced his fingers lightly over her contorted ribs murmuring soft sympathies, "She's not going to be ready for the sale in time. You'll have to put her up for bid at least two auctions from now… I'm sorry kid, but this is going to hurt you a hell of a lot more." Nedris couldn't look away, his eyes were glued to her broken body as the medic began to break and reset her bones. The sickening pops and cracks sent shivers down his spine and he wondered if her attacker had heard these sounds with malevolent glee. He decided, quite forcefully, that it whoever it was must have just stomached like he was for no creature with an ounce of humanity could ever savor such a nauseating chorus.

Finally the medic stopped and dug around in the large leather bag for a canister, he pulled out some gauze and wrapped it carefully around her torso then sprayed the substance on top. It came out in white puffy foam that hardened quickly into a solid form fitted cast. He shrugged and clicked his tongue, "well that's that. She's no blue ribbon beauty, but I wager she'll live." Nedris looked up at Degas, who hasn't spoken in quite some time. "I don't think I'll sell her off, there's no profit to be gained from a trauma victim, and the emotional imprint is too deep. Nedris, Stitch… You both should go assist with guard duty, I have a feeling we'll need to keep a tight watch tonight." They bowed respectfully and stepped out leaving Degas alone with the girl for the first time.

He touched her hand gently, letting his fingertips slide across the back of her hand feeling the cold porcelain-like skin. His forest green eyes had softened to a pale green and he let out a soft sigh, it pained him to see her like this. Degas sat beside her and held her hand in silence for a moment, etching into his mind the curves of her face and dark hue of her hair. "Between you and me, your imprint has nothing to do with why I won't sell you." He let go of her hand and lay a blanket over her, tucking the cover under her chin before sitting next to her once more. He wanted to find the monster that had done this, but he couldn't explain why. There was this overwhelming compulsion to protect her which was beginning to feel rather similar to a urge to covet. "Truth be told, I would make a killing off you… but I could never live with myself if this were to happen to you again."

Although Degas normally felt the gentle pull of sleep by this hour, now all he felt was the desire to watch over her. Something was watching for a chance to steal her away into the darkness and he simply couldn't let her go. A small tightness in his chest signaled something he hadn't felt in exceptionally long period of time.

Fear.


End file.
